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+---- Thread: [mature] ashhal, you !#@%er, come here i want to meet you (/showthread.php?tid=22039)
ashhal, you !#@%er, come here i want to meet you - Jackel - 12-11-2018
I've wandered again.
Not perfect and gleaming like I usually am, but worn and battered is how the river finds me. Dried blood and mud is matted upon my once vibrant coat, giving no indication to the beauty that lies beneath. It is a testament to my latest ventures, as trying as they might have been, I am proud of my failures. And really, if I'm being completely honest with you and myself, I never fail. Even in the greatest of set backs I can find a small victory. I am not a bitter person, no, quite the contrary; I am stubbornly cheerful. Cheerful enough to hover over the edge of disturbing even. But here I joke, I'm so funny that way, because we all know the truth of it. I am disturbed, to what degree however, all depends upon your perspective. Your friend Sally there might see me as an irresponsibly loud and impulsive creature, and to that I would respond that I am honestly just an enthusiastically spontaneous and carefree soul. Same things, same meanings, same truths. Just said differently.
Isn't life beautiful? So simple and yet so complicated. So simply, deliciously, chaotically complicated. My ramblings continue, though they are soon to be lapsed by the impish giggling; I told you I wasn't stupid.
There's no hesitation in my movement as I wade knee high into the river's gentle current. The water Jack that stares back is distorted and blurred, bringing upon a new fit of giggles at the ridiculousness of the vision. Really, this is like deja vu to a degree, but I haven't seen Swampy in some time. I hope that bastard didn't die without me. But no, as far as water went, this was boringly natural.
The water Jack begins to grin, and so I mimic the action, formulating the words quickly before I can even drop them from my pretty, bloodied mouth. She knows and she gossips like a man's least favorite whore. She can't help it. "Come say hello, you gorgeous bitch," I say clearly into the air of the dying dusk. I've spoken to the water, of course. But if the stalker decides to bide my offer also, then so be it.
The more the merrier.
@[Ashhal]
RE: ashhal, you !#@%er, come here i want to meet you - Ashhal - 12-28-2018
I tried to sell my soul last night
Funny, he wouldn't even take a bite
He really wasn’t paying much attention to whateverthefuck is going on around his nice little glen. To be honest, he doesn’t really give a shit, as long as they leave him the hell alone. But, well, let’s be real. He’s just really not very good at not getting noticed. He really doesn’t fucking know why, probably another goddamned curse. But whatever the hell it is, it never seems to want to let him get some goddamned sleep.
Still, he couldn’t ignore the fact that someone was out there, fucking up his peace and quiet.
With a groan, he pulls himself upright, lips tugging immediately into a scowl. As he pulls himself to his feet, he stretches, a yawn splitting his jaw before he shakes himself violently, loose hair and dust and feathers releasing into the air around him. With a grunt, he settles his wings against his pale sides, head coming up as he glares around him.
He’d tucked himself into a nice little nook surrounded by stones, but apparently that isn’t fucking enough. The lines of his scowl etching deeper, he ambles from his hollow to confront the disturber of his peace. He sees her almost immediately, peering at her own reflection in the slower moving current this particular section of river offers.
Leaning idly against the rock he’d just rounded, he eyes her openly. Probably a little perversely too, let’s be real. But hell, even that muck and gore crusting her lithe little body can’t hide the lovely form beneath. And we already know he’s really not that fucking picky. Besides, he likes a girl who can handle a little bloodshed.
When she finally speaks, he straightens slowly, tail flicking his haunch casually as he tries to decide whether she’s talking to him or her reflection. Hell, does it really fucking matter?
“I’m really not the hello type,” he intones rather nonchalantly, his voice low, equal parts irritated and amused. “More the ‘Fuck you’ type.”
